


By The Grace of The Dalish

by Marine_is_Hope



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dalish Culture, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Dalish Elves, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Multi, So Much Dalish, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-26 06:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4993039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marine_is_Hope/pseuds/Marine_is_Hope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tongues of old try to ensnare him; they pulse through him, and hum a gentle and guiding song to the recesses of his conscience. But he shuts them away. For he has grown since he first donned the Keeper's vestment, and he refuses to stand aside and let any being, human, Darkspawn, elven, or otherwise, led his people astray.</p><p>So he stands, with his clan and others at his back, and he stares into the Inquisitor's gaze as he says, "The Dread Wolf calls for us to follow his path," as the butt of his staff ground against the cobblestone floor, "So, what do you need for us to do?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Elder, Your Time Has Come

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you play DA:I on a really low resolution and mesh quality. You think that the Keeper Hawen of the Exaulted Plains Clan is like twenty and it just... sticks. Then that idea jumbles together with a whole host of other theories and you are left with a big mess. Which is where this monster comes from. Enjoy!

Hawen knew a great deal. He knew when to splint a sprained limb, and when to forgo the more mundane medicines and call upon the magic that flowed through his veins like a second blood. He knew how to find the trails of old, and how to help a woman give birth. He knew what kinds of grasses were safe for the Halla to eat in the Dirth. He did not, however, know how to fix the broken spoke of an aravel that was stuck in one of the human soldier’s trenches. 

He pulled away from the aravel, squatting on the balls of his feet. He carefully avoided The Keeper’s gaze. The only consolation to the situation as that Gisharel looked just as lost as he felt. 

“Do you have any ideas, da’len?” The Keeper’s voice was soft and patient, so unlike Master Taniel’s stern tones that Hawen almost winced on Gisharel’s behalf. Then he remembered that Gisharel had begged Master Taniel for close to three years to allow him to be her apprentice. Gisharel’s discomfort was his own fault. Hawen closed his eyes and stood up. 

“For a permanent repair we will need to return to either the Brecilian Forest or The Wilds in order to find more ironwood.” He said, and The Keeper nodded, signaling him to continue, “However, for temporary repairs I suppose that we could use another type of wood?” 

“What types?” Master Taniel asked. 

“Beech, oak, yew, or mahogany. Any hardwood, really.” Gisharel spoke up, catching Hawen’s eye to give him a small smile. Hawen felt his cheeks heat slightly, and he immediately turned to look up at the other elf’s teacher. 

Master Taniel released a noise that could have easily been a laugh, “Put you two’s heads together, and you make a nearly functioning leader.” The small smile that had been gracing her lips disappeared, but her eyes still twinkled, “Where would you find those types of wood here?” 

“In the shemlen campfires! They’ve ransacked enough houses. Probably found a good exotic tale or three—ow!” Gisharel responded almost immediately, only to be cuffed on the back of the head. 

“Down the riverbed.” Hawen countered. 

“Which way?” The Keeper asked, tilting her head to encourage Hawen to continue. The First blinked and looked over to where the river ran. 

“To the… east.” He concluded, after judging the water’s flow. The Keeper nodded, clapping her hands. 

“Well then,” She said, a mischievous twinkle lighting a fire in the depths of her blue eyes, “You might wish to go tell our Hunters where and what they should start looking for.”  
“Of course, Keeper.” Hawen intoned, bowing his head as he turned away. He caught Gisharel’s gaze as he did so, and didn’t miss the other wiggling his eyebrows. He nearly laughed and spun back around. “Perhaps I should go with them, Keeper? To provide another set of eyes and monitor the situation. Someone has to keep an eye on ‘Arel here.” 

“You assume that I’m going to let him go. He hasn’t finished either of the bows that he promised me a week ago.” Master Taniel chuckled, and Gisharel shot her a look that was one part offended horror, two parts pleading. 

“Master Tan—”

Master Taniel groaned, “No whining!” Her voice was sharp, though after a look at Gisharel’s dejected features, she sighed, “I could be persuaded to part with him, if, and only if, he promises me that he will finish three bows by this time next week.” 

Gisharel’s eyes widened, “Three—”

“Three bows and I want your word.”

“Master Taniel—”

“Your word, Gisharel.” 

Gisharel sighed and bowed his head, though Hawen could see a grin playing at his lips, “Ma nuvenin, fine, fine, you have my word.” The Craftsmaster nodded, and Hawen turned his attention to his Keeper, who was watching the exchange with amusement. She nodded at him. 

“I suppose that is a good idea, da'mi. Be careful and don’t tread too close to the—” She cut herself off, a smile dawning upon her features and making her look younger than her years, “… Or perhaps you should stay at camp.” 

“Quen? Keeper?” 

“You will stay and watch camp. I will join the Hunters.” 

“But Keeper—” Hawen only just managed to keep the petulant whine out of his voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gisharel trembling with barely contained laughter. Traitor. 

The Keeper, however, was having none of the complaints, “No, no, t’will do you good, getting some first-hand experience! And, besides, t’will only be for a few short hours. If you can’t handle that then there is no possible way you will be able to handle leading the clan until the end of your days.” When she saw that Hawen had nothing left to say on the matter, she smiled and nodded to herself. Then, when she realized that he was too busy making faces at the still-snickering Gisharel, she made shooing motions with her hands. Only then did Hawen manage to force himself to trek back to the center of camp. 

===

“You know, there are times when I’m not sure which of you is The Keeper, and which of you is The Keeper’s First.” Gisharel laughed, leaning against one of the few still-functioning aravels. Hawen sighed, reaching over to pull the other youth away, as it was common knowledge in the Clan that while Gisharel was as brilliant as they came, he had a horrible habit of breaking everything he touched. Gisharel grinned, and Hawen could stop himself from smiling back. 

“And I am uncertain as to if you are a man or a child, regardless of your Vallaslin. But you don’t hear me saying such things, do you?” 

“So cruel, so cruel. Your sharp tongue is the reason why I’m running off to join The Keeper on her trek, ma'arlath.” 

Hawen felt a soft tingling in his chest at the unbidden phrase as it slipped past Gisharel’s lips. My love. Had they really managed to progress to that? Hawen still remembered when Gisharel had first come up to him, clutching a staff engraved with halla and wrapped in wolf-leather before him like a peace offering. “’Tis not the pelt of a great beast, but—” He had sighed, his expression stuck somewhere between hopeful and terrified as Hawen took the weapon and tested its balance, “It’s what I can offer.” Hawen had accepted the offering with a smile, a nod, and a brush of fingers against Gisharel’s cheek. And that, as The Keeper was so fond of saying, was that.

Hawen had to remind himself to breathe, “You are going with The Keeper because you don’t want to be stuck warping wood for the evening.” He tried to hide his grin, leaning forward and digging his toes into the soft earth beneath his feet. 

“And because you are being mean.” 

“I am only speaking the truth.” Hawen chided, trying not to let his smirk widen. “And they need you to help them identify potential sources. You are useful to have around, Lethallin.” It wasn’t the same kind of endearment as the one that he had been offered, but it was what he could give. Judging by the way Gisharel’s grin broadened, the other understood that. With that, Hawen started walking away, under the guise of going to check the camp ledger, which seemed to be growing longer and longer each day. As he scanned down the first page, he felt a familiar weight against his shoulder. Gisharel’s unbound hair tumbled down his front and pressed against Hawen’s back when the Craftmaster’s apprentice leaned against him. Gisharel’s warmth was not asked for, but was not unwelcome. He smelled of Elfroot and sunshine. 

Hawen swallowed, “You could just look on with me, as a normal being might.” His hand came up to toy with one of the soft black curls that hung down from Gisharel’s head.  
“I am looking on with you.” 

“Your head is on my shoulder, Gisharel.” 

“And it tis a right proper headrest, Hawen. Better than some of those Shemlen soldiers’ pillows, I’d wager.” 

Hawen huffed, “Well, even so, tell the Hunters that if they see any wolves on their way back to camp, they should kill them and bring them back to camp. We need meat and pelts. The cold nights are getting to some of the younger ones.” 

“Do I get a reward if I bring them back?” 

Hawen arched an eyebrow, “You get supper.” 

“And what about dessert?” Gisharel’s grin took on a playful edge, and Hawen felt himself blush. Again. 

“Go, you fool! They won’t wait for you!” 

“A kiss for a reward?” 

“Go!”

Gisharel laughed as the shorter elf pushed him towards the river where a curious bunch of Hunters were gathering around The Keeper. The Keeper caught his gaze and smiled at him knowingly from her spot in front of the group. Hawen blinked and swallowed thickly, forcing his gaze back down to look at the ledger intently, as if he hadn’t done so just a few seconds ago. It was only when the sounds of the Hunters faded away that he turned his gaze back to the spot that she had occupied. He tried not to think about the blush that had painted itself across his face. He cursed his fair skin and too light hair. 

He turned to face the camp, only to find Master Taniel smirking (almost smiling) at him. “So, when is the bonding ceremony?” She asked, her grin taking on a wolf-like quality. Hawen only felt his cheeks grow hotter as he raced away to go see if Ithiren needed anything else for the Halla. 

The evening passed by quietly. The weather was fair, with a slight wind to the east, and the Halla were peaceful. Hawen, however, was on edge. “They were supposed to be back hours ago.” He growled, pacing in the shadows of Master Taniel’s shop, tucked out of sight from the rest of the Clan, who were gathered around the fire pit. Taniel was silent for a time, her eyes critically tracing over one of the longbows that Gisharel was supposed to be repairing. Finally, after seemingly losing interest in the weapon she was cradling, she turned her attention to him. “We don’t even know if there is any viable wood in that forest, da’len. Give them time.” She turned her attention back to the bow, frowning at an unwanted groove that she spotted, “Calm yourself. They will return in a few hours.” While her voice was soft and sure, there was a glint in her eyes that Hawen knew to be worry. He continued pacing. 

===

The moon was almost at the highest part of its trek across the sky by the time the group of Hunters returned with wood. They were led by Olafin, an elf known as much for his kind smile than his bow arm. He grinned at Hawen, passing an exuberant Nissa some elfroot that they seemed to have found in the forest near the wood. “The Keeper said to tell you that she was on her way, and that you worry too much, lethallin.”

“What happened?” 

“Gisharel saw a pack of wolves and he and Berin got excited.” 

“And they went chasing after them, didn’t they?”

“You know them both so well. The Keeper took off after them.” 

Hawen groaned, “By the Dread Wolf.”

Olafin started laughing, “And just think, this will all be your problem one day.” 

Hawen shook his head, feeling his lips quirk upward, “I’ll be gray by the year’s end.” 

“That’s the spirit! Though, your hair is truly altready light enough to pass as silver.” Olafin said, patting Hawen’s shoulder reassuringly. 

===

By the time that the fire’s embers died an hour later, Hawen had grown panicked again. This time, however, he wasn’t the only one. Olafin stood on the outskirts of camp, a silent sentinel looking down the river into the darkness where he knew the ruins to be. Sighing, Hawen joined him. 

“They should have returned by now.” He muttered. 

“I agree.” Olafin whispered, as if hesitant to break the quiet of the night. A wolf in the distance howled, and the noise was brought to their ears on a stray breeze. The Halla around them gave a collective shiver at their hunter’s call. Hawen understood their trepidation. 

“Ready a small group of Hunters. I will tell Master Taniel to watch camp.” 

“Are you certain that’s the best idea? The Keeper and their First leaving the Clan unattended?” 

Hawen glowered at Olafin and stayed silent, knowing that the warrior had a point. Another gust of cold rattled the grasses and dug its way underneath Hawen’s cloak to stab at his skin. “Ready the Hunters. Now.” There was a command in his voice that the other didn’t dare refuse. 

===

Judging by the distant grumbles, the Hunters were disgruntled at being woken up, but their annoyance would have paled in comparison to Master Taniel’s ire if she had heard of Hawen’s plan. So he didn’t wake her. Instead, he found himself knocking softly at the door to Nissa’s aravel. When she opened the door, she was bleary-eyed and confused. The look of glazed befuddlement left her face immediately left her face when she noticed him standing before her, a staff strapped on to his back. “Hawen?” Her voice was scared. 

“Watch the camp, lethallan.” Was all that he whispered, and he thanked each and every one of the Creators when all she did was light a lantern and nod. 

===

There were five of them total, three Hunters, a Healer, and Hawen, and they were all geared up and alert when Hawen and Olafin met at the north-western corner of camp. They were silent as they traveled westward down the riverbed. About one thousand paces away from The Baths, they heard unfamiliar drunken laughter and unsheathed their weapons. The leather of the grip in Hawen’s sweaty palms was freezing. He closed his eyes and used the numbing cold to ground himself. 

Five-hundred paces out, they saw the light of the Shemlens’ make-shift torches lighting the entrance of the ruins. They quickened their steps and two of the Hunters drew arrows. Hawen spared a glance to Olafin and saw that his normally cheerful face was solemn and as hard as stone. He saw how the Hunter’s fingers twitched on the shaft of the arrow clutched in his grip. It was almost unearthly just how easily they all moved as a unit. Grace of the Dalish. Hawen thought, already feeling the pull of a barrier spell tugging at the tips of his fingers. 

As silent as a shadow, the group slipped past the entrance and made their way around to the left side of the ruins. The walls were cracking and crumbling away, providing a perfect makeshift entrance. One of the Hunters, a youth by the name of Tabrien, was the first to crawl up onto one of the nearby boulders and slip through after peering in and nodding to the group. Olafin followed. Then Hawen stepped in. 

The cavern was spacious, with walls built up to section the building into rooms. Most of the area seemed deserted, save for the entry-room. There, two men sat drinking and playing cards. “There are probably more scouting the perimeter, I saw tracks on our way around.” Olafin muttered under his breath, and Hawen nodded minutely.  
The shemlen were soldiers in battle-worn armor, dented and divot-ridden daggers strapped to their sides. Their armor was blood-splattered. Hawen’s eyes focused on those dark smears that glinted a russet color in the firelight. Half-empty bottles were clutched in their claw-like fingers and encircled them like a nest. Their laughter was akin to screeches against Hawen’s ears.

One of them, the larger of the two, put his bottle down, and gave the other a smile, running a hand through his hair. Then he pulled a cloth that had been resting near him up to the light. And that was when Hawen’s breath froze in his chest. He felt Olafin stiffen beside him. It was a vestment, with green and white patterns interlaced with gold trim. It was long dragged along the ground as the man tossed it onto his lap. Hawen knew who it belonged to. They all did. Hawen had tried it on so many times to appease The Keeper when her almost childlike nature overtook the mask of resigned reservation that she had almost perfected over the years. He could almost feel the wool scratch against his neck and weigh against his shoulders. He could almost picture The Keeper’s playfully serious gaze. You must stop growing, da’len. Creators have mercy on our poor Nissa if you don’t. You’re already going to need a good three inches hemmed on as it is. 

The air around him dropped a good ten degree, and a distinct coldness ran along the length of his back. The deserter didn’t seem to notice as he barked out another laugh, “By the Maker, Alphonse, look at this!” He waved the robe vigorously before him, nearly tipping over at the force of the shake. His Orlaisan accent was thick. “We got firewood, spare weapons, and some nice knife-ear trinkets that we can sell at the next town over! Ha! All we’re missing now is a nice, pretty wench that could pop our corks and let us be on our merry way.” He sighed happily, swaying on to his feet. He dropped the clothing and took a few stumbling steps forward. He eyed companion (a man with greasy black hair and an almost nervous flicker in his eyes) with an almost critical gaze, “’Still think that you should have let Leon keep that delicate looking one alive. Just long enough for us to have some fun.” 

The other deserter huffed out a breath and took a long gulp from his bottle. “She was magic though. Would have frozen your balls off faster than you could call out to Andraste to save you.” 

“But if we just said that we were Templars—”

“No good comes from messing with magic.” There was a moment’s pause, “Or those Dalish, for that matter. I still say that we should have let them be.” The whisper of their name dropping from the human’s soiled tongue was enough to startle the onlookers. A communal sense of fury lit the air. Hawen heard Tabrien’s blades click together. He heard the hiss of bows being pulled taunt. Hawen let his eyes slide close and let go, feeling the icy cold spread and engulf him as he fade-stepped forward, pushing himself into the other room. He called on the fire in the torches before the glow of the fade had even left his vision, as one of the men let out a yelped cry of fear. The scream was cut short by three arrows that sliced through the air and lodged themselves in the man’s throat and chest, pinning him to the rock-face behind him. But it was enough. Hawen heard the confused and alarmed voices in the distance. 

Hawen spun on his heels to face the other deserter, feeling a disjointed anger at the man’s terror. He called for the fire, forcing it to intensify and coalesce in the cradle of his palm. He set it careening for the man’s nose when he opened his trembling lips. Hawen winced as heat and gore hit his face when the spell found its mark. The yelling outside grew louder, and Hawen turned his gaze to the doorway. One of Tabrien’s blades went flying through the air as a man appeared in the entrance. All he managed was a choked back breath before he toppled forward, the veridium dagger digging deep into the leather that was supposed to protect his chest. Hawen saw the giant maul of the deserter leader and immediately pulled Tabrien behind him and called upon ice to form a wall in front of the entryway. Distantly, he heard Olafin call for the other’s to ready their weapons. There was a ringing in his ears.

He felt the first strike of the man’s weapon against the ice across his shoulders, and he had to grit his teeth in concentration to keep the spell from braking. The second, he felt against the right side of his back and there was a resounding ‘crack’ as a jagged cut appeared in the ice. A man in officer’s armor brandished his maul and Olafin responded with an arrow that lodged itself in the chink of the man’s shoulder pad. Hawen forced himself to breathe as he called upon the lightening that was toiling in the pit of his stomach and sent a bolt through the opening. Later, he would try to forget the savage rush of glee that flooded his system when the man let out a keening scream as electric currents traveled along the metal of his plate-mail. Then there was silence. 

“Do you think that is all of them?” The final warrior, a woman named Feria, asked. 

“If the Creators are merciful.” Hawen whispered, leaning heavily upon his staff. He let his concentration break and watched as the ice wall splintered and cracked, disappearing into the air with a muted ‘hiss’. 

That was when the crossbow bolt shot out, slashing past Hawen’s cheek, leaving a burning sting in its wake. Hawen let out a hiss as he adjusted the grip on his staff, causing it glow threateningly. It was only when he looked down, did he stop short. It was a boy, a youth of perhaps only fourteen years, clad in the dirty garments of an Orlaisan squire. He stood not ten paces away from the doorway, clutching at a battered crossbow. His knees were locked and his eyes were wide. “Wait!” Hawen shouted, holding up a hand to halt the Hunters. 

The Squire glanced up at him with deep blue eyes, his chest heaving. His gaze dropped to the ground where the deserter leader lay, still smoking. Then he looked back up at Hawen. A frightened rabbit caught in a trap. Hawen winced, looking back to glance at Olafin. There was no way that they could let the boy live, knowing what would happen if he made his way into a town and told the villagers what had happened. What they had done. Hawen sighed and stepped forward. The boy stood his ground. He held his chin up, even though he was visibly trembling. 

“Their bodies are in the back. In the open area near the riverbank.” He whispered, his voice steady, even with fear lacing every syllable. “You can—”

“What is your name?” Hawen asked. 

“My name?” 

“Yes,” 

“Joel.” The name range in Hawen’s ears. He closed his eyes. 

“Then, I am sorry, Joel.” The air shivered as Hawen’s hands glowed white. Panic overtook Joel’s features, only to be muted and then washed away by the sleep spell. Joel’s eyes rolled up and he slumped forward, only to be caught by Hawen before he hit the ground. Hawen swallowed, laying the boy down gently. His mind ached with the pull of the spell. He turned back to Olafin, who already had unsheathed one of his knives. Hawen shook his head and reached out for the weapon. 

Olafin took a step forward, his gaze worried, “Lethallan, there is no need—”

“It is a Keeper’s duty to remember. To protect. To lead their Clan away from the Dreadwolf’s path…” Hawen whispered, taking the blade by the hilt. Even if that means trekking it themselves. He thought. 

The boy’s blood was hot and sticky and the exact same color as the liquid that ran down Hawen’s cheek and stained his tunic’s collar. He leaned back, whipping the knife off on one of the nearby grass tufts. Then he handed it back to its owner. Only then did he turn back to the boy’s body, “Rest by your Maker’s side.” He whispered, and then turned away. 

“Let’s go.” He walked past the still Hunters, past the stiller deserters, only stopped to pick up The Keeper’s raiment, before making his way deeper into the ruins. 

===

Their bodies were stacked on top of one another in a pile, their bloods mixing together on the ground below them. All three of them were there, all with arrow-holes and stab-wounds scattered along the lengths of their backs. An ambush, Hawen thought dully. They probably didn’t even know what was happening. His fingers trailed along Gisharel’s brow. There was a ghost of a smile on the apprentice’s lips. He heard Olafin curse behind him. He heard Tablien start to weep, and Suemar, the healer, heave up her dinner. He inhaled, feeling his breath hitch in his chest. 

“We need to get them back to camp.” He said, his voice ringing hollow to his ears. “Come’s tomorrow’s light, we can take them Var Bellanaris.” His throat closed and he felt a shudder course through his frame. “But we need to get them out of here.” 

“What about the soldiers?” Feria asked, her voice thick. 

“Throw them into the river. Their armor will drag them beneath the waves. ‘Tis what they were planning on doing with them.” He whispered, pointing to the rocks and rope that rested beside the bodies. “Take anything that could hint to our involvement here. The last things that we need are more deaths due to the Shemlen trying to get revenge for their fallen.” There was silence for a moment, then Hawen forced himself to speak again, “Tabrien, Olafin, help me ready them for travel.” 

They worked in silence, stopping only occasionally to wash away the blood from their hands. The quiet that settled around them was as thick as fog and was only broken when Feria returned. “Hawen, lethallan,” He turned to face her, and she held up three bloody wolf pelts. There was a bleak glint in her eyes, “The deserters, they ate all of the meat, but—” She choked out an almost laugh, though it sounded more akin to a sob, “But they got the wolves.” 

Hawen felt his knees go out then, heard Olafin call his name in alarm, but his eyes remained fixated on the pelts. The objects that had led the group to the ruins. The damned things that he had specifically asked for. (A teasing smile and a ringing laugh, “A kiss for a reward?”) The things that Gisharel— 

“Burn them, when we get back to camp, throw them in the campfire!” He nearly hissed, rage lacing through the syllables. It was either anger or anguish, and Hawen was not about to break down weeping in front of his clan members. Feria took a step back, not expecting to face his anger. Her gaze immediately turned away as she nodded.

===

By the time that they got back to camp, the sun was rising, dyeing the skies above them a fitting shade of red. The Halla parted for them, letting them through. They stumbled into the heart of camp, where they came face-to-face with a red-eyed Master Taniel. When she saw them, anger lit her features, but it was immediately stuffed out and melted into one of horrified grief as she noticed the body that rested heavily against Hawen’s shoulders. Her sharp scream of anguish shattered the air of camp and Hawen felt his heart tremble as she took the almost reassuring weight of Gisharel’s body away from him. Without it, he felt too light, as though he would float away on the next wind. So, he just collapsed on the dirt beside her, trembling in exhaustion and grief. He saw the feet of the others, and heard their shocked whispers. 

“Tell me you killed them.” Taniel growled as tears rolled freely down her cheeks. 

“Every last one.” He said, and his voice was a murmur. 

Taniel nodded, and then stilled, her expression open and fearful, completely unguarded for the first time in Hawen’s memory, “The Keeper? Where is Ashea?” Hawen couldn’t speak. He only nodded over to Olafin, who was laying her body on the ground beside the riverbed. Taniel let out an almost inhuman groan. “Creators protect us.” She breathed. For a moment, they just stared at one another, equals in their sorrow. 

“What will we do now?” Hawen whispered, desperation tinging his words. 

Taniel’s breath was shaky and her eyes were gray, “That is for you to decide. Keeper.” 

The title rang in Hawen’s ears, as final as the ringing of a sword as it was drawn from its sheath. It was then that Hawen felt the world drop out from beneath him. 

“Andruil guide me.” He whimpered.


	2. Chapter 2

The ground of Var Bellanaris was hard and unyielding so the preparation for the funeral took hours longer that it should have. Hawen lingered even after it was all over and the others had returned to camp. The worried look on Master Taniel’s otherwise bleak expression as she glanced back at him had branded itself to the backs of his eyelids. The hymn of the eulogy still flickered in his mind. Hahren na melana sahlin. Emma ir abelas. The words had hurt just as much as they had healed as they had passed through his mouth. The skin of his lips tingled, as if the song had burned them. He took comfort in that. They were the only part of him left that felt warm.

He sat before the three graves, on the fringes of the upturned dirt. The world was quiet, but still alive, and it hummed with vitality beneath his fingers. In contrast, Hawen felt frozen. He felt as if he were dreaming. He wondered how everything could seem so normal, yet at the same, so unworldly. 

He looked up at the headstone that marked the place where they had laid Gisharel and packed dirt over his body. Unbidden, a nearly blinding flash of the other man’s smile flitted through Hawen’s mind. He could almost remember the exact degree of coaxing warmth of the other’s lips as they pressed against his cheek. ‘A kiss for a reward, then?’ fluttered through his mind. Shaking his head and swallowing thickly, he turned his gaze to the Keeper’s tomb. Where his mentor (the closest thing that he had to a mother since he was sent to Clan Ena’eth) had been lain to rest. 

Here lies The Keeper of Clan Ena’eth, arcane warrior and one of the strongest of the Elvhen, struck down by a shemlen’s blade. 

“A shining example of the Creators’ sense of irony.” Hawen whispered with a rueful chuckle that fell dead as soon as it tumbled from his lips. His eyes burned.   
After another hour or so passed, when footsteps sounded behind Hawen, soft but definite. Hawen turned, finding himself face-to-face with one of The Keeper’s Seconds, Valorin. He had taught the other some pyromancy at The Keeper’s request. It had been something that Valorin had naturally excelled in. Which, according to The Keeper was fitting for the boy’s vibrant but slightly reckless attitude (and was not necessarily a good thing). 

But there was none of that passion or energy in the boy now. It had been replaced with hesitance as the youth stepped forward, his eyes cast away from Hawen’s face. He looked conflicted, “I understand if you need more time, but—”

“Did Master Taniel send you to fetch me?” Hawen asked, keeping his voice soft as he rubbed at his cheeks and eyes. Valorin nodded. Hawen rose to his feet, his legs as shaky as a newborn halla’s. As he did so, Valorin’s gaze lightened to something akin to relieved admiration. The almost soft expression set Hawen’s stomach on edge. “Did she tell you why she wanted me?” 

“She needs your help in deciding who she should take on as her next apprentice.” Valorin said, the frown from earlier dampening his expression. 

“She’s not wasting time then.” Hawen breathed. 

“She’s never been the type to do so.” Valorin said, an almost convincing chuckle passing through his lips. Hawen nodded, moving to place a hand on the boy’s shoulder, squeezing gently before moving away. Any words that he could think to say stuck to the back of his throat, forcing him to stay silent. A small flame of triumph lit itself in his chest when he saw the other’s expression lighten slightly. 

Hawen nodded, discretely coughing to clear his throat. “Let’s get back to camp, then. It won’t do to keep her waiting.” He whispered. 

===

“There’s Jorren,” Hawen said, leaning back to watch Taniel as she poured tea. 

“Too old.” 

Hawen frowned, “He’s a score younger than you.” 

“And I’m nearing three scores and two years. You can teach an old dog new tricks, but only so many.” 

“Then Gywn.” 

Taniel leveled him with a look as she handed him his cup of tea, “I said that I want someone young, not a toddler.” 

“He’s thirteen summers old, that’s hardly a child.” Hawen argued, “And he is one of the eldest children we have who hasn’t chosen to be a hunter or a healer.” Hawen gripped at the sides of his mug, leeching off of the warmth of the liquid held in the clay. Taniel watched him, her brow furrowed. Finally, she sighed, nodding. 

“I suppose you are right.” She whispered, setting her cup down. Then her eyes took on a calculating edge that made Hawen’s skin prickle. “Now, I suppose it is time to discuss your options.” She said, keeping her voice neutral. Hawen blinked at her. 

“I’m not sure what you mean.” He said, pulling his legs up closer to his chest. 

Taniel sighed, closing her eyes, “You are the Keeper of our Clan, lethallin, and right now, you are without a First.” She went quiet, as if she hoped that time would help let the words sink in. Hawen just coiled further into himself. After a few moments of tense silence, Taniel sighed, “Both of the Seconds are of a decent age and either would be eager to accept if you—”

“I’m not ready for this.” Hawen said, cutting her off. His voice was a choked back whisper. It was terrified. Taniel winced. 

“This is not the first time something like this has happened, da’len.” 

“Master Taniel, with all due respect, I am barely a score old and—”

“I have faith in you, Hawen.”

“I don’t.” He snapped, and she finally saw the way that his state of mind was fraying at the edges, emotions bending into one another, creating a chaotic mix that he could barely keep within himself. She saw the anger that was at war with the terror and the sadness that was still sharp and stabbing at his mind every time he thought of something different.   
“Oh Hawen,” She whispered, and he shook his head, unable to speak. Slowly, she rose to her feet and made her way over to him. With visible hesitation, she wrapped an arm around him and buried her face into his plaited hair. He shook and trembled in her arms, but he did not cry. “It was wrong of me to push.” She sighed, brushing at his bare neck with her thumb, the way that she had seen The Keeper do many times before. “I forget that I am old, and have seen such tragedies befall our people before.” She was quiet for a moment, “I could send letters to the nearby clans who we are on good terms with. Perhaps they would be willing to merge—”

Hawen looked up, blinking at her owlishly, “I could not ask our clan or theirs to do such a thing. Besides, how would we even reach them? We have three functioning aravels and in order to get anywhere, we’d have to cross the woods of Halin’suhlan.” 

“Which would bring us far too close to the troops, especially after what happened to—yesterday.” Master Taniel whispered, pulling back to comb her fingers through her hair. 

“There is nothing we can do.” Hawen murmured. Taniel winced at the fact that he was right. 

“Even if you do not accept the position, there will still be people who will look up to you because of it.” 

“So I have no choice in the matter.” Hawen’s voice was dull.

“Unless you want to tell the Clan that they are leaderless.” Taniel said, pulling farther away and reaching down to pick up Hawen’s cup. She handed it to him with steady hands. When he accepted it, his were still trembling slightly. He took a long draught, and even after he pulled away from the rim, he kept his eyes closed. 

“The Keeper had two Seconds. Valorin and Selen. While I know them, I will be the first to admit that I didn’t… interfere in their lives the way that some Firsts decide to.”   
Master Taniel surprised him by barking out a laugh, “Only you would think that being friendly qualifies as ‘interfering’.” She chuckled, “It’s no wonder why Gisharel was so interested in you. Foolish boy always did like a challenge.” Her voice was fond and soft and Hawen looked down at the swirling liquid in his cup. 

“I am sorry for your loss, lethallan.” He said, and she nodded her thanks.

“And I yours. But I digress, continue on your first thought. Don’t let this old woman’s sentimentality distract you from your thoughts.”

Hawen gave her a small smile, “I don’t know either of them well enough to choose which would be better. The Keeper normally dealt with them. She said I had too firm a hand to try to teach young ones She only let me teach Valorin pyromancy because she knew next to no fire magic.” 

There was another short laugh, “I can understand her fears. Try to be gentle and understanding. Train with them. Let them show you which is better suited through their actions and thoughts. You don’t have to choose right away. Decide after you have a glimpse into their minds.” 

Hawen nodded. 

===  
“Alright, Valorin, try again. Ready? Three, two, one—”

“Fenedhis!” Was all that Valorin managed to yelp as the immolate spell hit his barrier, shattering it and sending him flying backwards onto his back. Hawen grimaced and moved forward to check on the teen as Selen giggled gleefully behind him. 

“Ow…” Valorin groaned as Hawen helped him up and him over for scorch marks, only to see that a good three-quarters of the youth’s right eyebrow was now gone. This just made Selen cackle harder. 

“You should have paid attention, da’len.” Hawen chided, and Valorin whined, rubbing at the back of his head. 

Valorin’s nose scrunched up, “I was!” He pouted. 

“Then why’d you end up on your ass, lethallin?” Selen called, and Valorin glared at her before turning his attention back to his mentor. 

“Why do we even have to practice against magic? Shemlen don’t let their mages leave their Circles. Or, well, they didn’t.” Valorin amended, clearly thinking back to the letter Hawen had read to the camp. The humans’ Circles had voted for freedom and the Navarran Accord had broken some months ago. Not that it really meant that much for the Dalish, except for the extra tension that seemed to be mounting in the troops that were entrenched in battle to the north of them, and the excess of deserters that such tension caused. Not a week ago, there had been word from a group of scouts that they had heard some of the soldiers on the garrison talking about a supposed accord that the human’s Devine was holding to ease tensions. Hawen prayed that it would ease some of the tenseness out of the air. 

“Telanadas. Who know what we might be forced to fight against in the days to come.” Hawen said, pulling the boy to his feet.

“Would you rather fight with the hunters?” Selen asked, still smiling. Valorin grimaced at her. Hawen sighed and motioned for them to both get ready for another round. As they scrambled to protect themselves, he took a minute to look at them. There was Selen with her dark skin and all-but gleeful demeanor, lightening crackling at her fingertips and ice armor already starting to coat at her sleeves. Then there was Valorin, glaring at the ground with a serious expression as he dug the butt of his staff into the ground and moved into a defensive positon as his staff’s crystal glinted with an orange hue. 

“Remember to keep your focus, regardless of what I decide to fling at you.” He called out, looking around the clearing trying to decide just want he wanted to. 

“Hawen!” Hawen spun on his heels, glimmers of a half-finish fireball fizzling out in the air around him as Olafin appeared in the clearing. The other elf’s knives were out and the metal of the blades flashed scarlet in the light of the afternoon sun. He was breathing hard. Hawen made his way over to his side, his hands already glowing with the dim green light of a healing spell. 

“What—”

“There’s undead in the Halin’suhlan. They are coming off the battlements. Feria heard some of the soldiers saying that they were come from the Freedmen’s encampments. ” Olafin huffed out, still out of breath. 

Hawen blinked, “What are the humans doing summoning undead?” 

Olafin shrugged helplessly, “I have no idea. They attacked two of my scouts during their patrol of the grove this morning. No one was injured.” He added the last sentence as an apologetic afterthought after noticing how Hawen’s posture grew tense and still. 

Hawen breathed out sigh, losing some of the rigidity of his shoulders. “Get the hunters back to foremost camp. Get anyone that you see back to their campsites, if you can.”   
Olafin opened his mouth, seemingly to argue, but then seemed to think better of it. “Right away, Keeper.” 

===  
“Are you serious?” The minute Hawen had returned to camp, Taniel had pulled him aside with a white-knuckled grip. Her voice was calm as was her expression. But there was a fire in her eyes that would have rivaled the flames of Sylaise’s own hearths to shame. “Sequester everyone in the camps and we will run out of supplies within the fortnight. We are running low herbs and roots as it is.” 

“There are undead walking the battlements. Corpses, Taniel. The Veil is already stretched thin here due to the foolish humans killing each other. This just makes it worse.” Taniel crossed her arms, and for a moment Hawen felt like a foolish child. “I am not saying that everyone should barricade themselves in. But I am saying that I don’t want healers or children to leave the main camp without having at least one hunter in their party.” 

Taniel breathed in deeply, releasing him with a sigh, “That is… reasonable.” She finally said, “Though next time, provide more information. I am too old for such surprises. When Olafin came running into camp, calling for the scouts to go gather the hunters and healers, I feared the worst.” 

“I am not a fool, lethallan, I know that we need food.” 

“And I will remember that and defer to your judgement next time.” Taniel said nodding, “Now, I think that it is time that you go and speak with your Seconds. They seem quite on edge.” 

Hawen frowned, “They are fine.” 

“They have been eavesdropping on us since the conversation started.” Hawen turned to look out over the camp, where, sure enough, both Selen and Valorin were sitting on the outskirts of the fire pit, now desperately trying to find something to do to not look conspicuous. Hawen felt his lips quirk upward into a smile. Taniel chuckled, “They have been good for you.” 

“Oh?” 

“They follow you everywhere. Listen to your every word. And Creators forbid that someone speak ill of you behind your back.” 

“People are whispering behind my back?” 

Taniel chuckled, “Not anymore. Valorin heard a couple of scouts gossiping a while back and I swear Olafin was the only reason why he didn’t start a firestorm right there.” 

“Some of the scouts are discontent with me?” 

“They think you are young, da’len.” Taniel said, “And they are worried. But you haven’t provided them with any evidence to justify their fretting. ” She clapped her hands together, “Now, go soothe your ducklings’ ruffled feathers.”

===  
“You two are not nearly as inconspicuous as you’d like to believe.” Selen felt Valorin jump at The Keeper’s voice. She would have tried to poke fun at him for that, had she not done   
the exact same thing. So, she settled with moving over to provide The Keeper with enough space to eat his dinner in the light of the fire.   
Valorin was the first to speak up, “Will there still be practice, Keeper?” He asked, his voice hesitant. He looked up at Hawen with big brown eyes. Selen nodded. For a moment, Hawen just blinked, looking from the boy, to the girl, then back again. He was probably taking note of the fact that both of them still had their staffs strapped to their backs. 

“It would be… difficult.” He finally responded, pressing the tip of the curve of his spoon to his lips. Selen’s shoulders drooped and Valorin dug his toes into the dirt. 

“But… Keeper—” Selen was hesitant, and she wasn’t sure if she was even allowed to argue. The Keeper normally toed the line of informal friendliness, as the Keeper before him had. But when he was faced with something new, he had the pesky tendency to grow incredibly stern and pedantic. She felt Valorin brush arms with her. 

“I didn’t say that it was impossible.” The Keepr chided, unease flickering across his features at their all-but crushed expressions. He bumped shoulders with them (something that he had started doing only recently, and reminded her quite a bit of the way that Halla would herd their young). He clearly tried to hide his smile as hope crested on the two’s features. “But we will need to be careful. Perhaps if one of the hunters went with us then—”

“My sister would!” Valorin said and the grin on his lips made him look almost childish as he scrambled to his feet. 

Hawen sighed, rolling his eyes. Selen leaned away ever so slightly to give him space as he grabbed at the other’s ankle, “There’s no reason to rush. I will probably stay at camp for two days or so, just to make sure that the new rules are being upheld. 

Selen huffed, “Can’t you get Master Taniel to do that?” She asked, lacing a bit of a petulant whine into the words. Hawen remained unaffected.

“The last time I checked, Taniel was the Craftsmaster, not the Keeper of this clan.” He said, taking another bite of his stew. He gazed at them with an arched eyebrow, “If all you are going to do is complain, I’ll leave to go sit with her and more mature company.” 

“You’d be bored within the minute, da’len!” Taniel shouted, causing more than a few chuckles to rise up from the corners of camp. Selen couldn’t stop herself from grinning. 

===  
“If you two don’t start paying more attention, I will set your hair on fire! Don’t try me!” Selen couldn’t help but laugh at the Keeper’s exasperation as she dodged out of the way of an immolate spell and was shoved out of the way of an arc of chain-lightning by Valorin. She only just managed to throw up a barrier spell to protect Valorin from an oncoming fireball. 

“But we are paying attention, Keeper!” Valorin called out from behind the safety of the magic shield. 

“You are also helping one another, which is cheating!” 

There was the sound of distant giggling as Valorin’s sister, Emilian continued sharpening her daggers. Occasionally, Olafin would join her in watching over the glen while the mages practiced, but he had gone on one of his infamous surveying adventures, trying to see what was causing the undead to rise, and wasn’t set to be due back for another day or two. Selen glanced over at Valorin, who tilted his head inquisitively. “The fact that we are holding our own against you has to count for something!” 

“If means that if you actually start trying to attack me, you might just be able to home early!” Hawen shouted and Valorin looked over to give her a sharp grin. He very deliberately ran one hand down his staff, an eerie green glow that had only just become familiar to her starting to grow around his hands. Selen felt her eyebrows rise in spite of herself.  
She still remembered how he had showed her what he had learned not three nights ago. She remembered the way that the green light encircled his hands and traveled up to make his eyes gleam with a knowledge that was almost unworldly. 

===  
You want to see something cool? He had asked, and she had nodded. She thought back to the way that the meteors had lit up the sky in a burning brilliance. She remembered the way that he had forced himself to break concentration right before the meteors hit the ground around them and attracted unwanted attention.

Now? Was all that she could think to mouth at him, and at his gleeful nod, she relented with a reciprocating smile. Taking a step back, she threw up as large a barrier spell as she could. Valorin rushed forward, spinning his staff outward then striking the ground. 

All was silent for a moment, and for just one second, Selen had feared that Valorin had performed the incantation wrong. But then there was a rush of wind and a toiling feeling in Selen’s gut that made her take a step forward as the small burst of chaotic magic erupted in the sky three feet or so above Keeper Hawen’s head.   
All their Keeper could do was let out an undignified yelp as he was pulled closer to the green rip in the Fade. The moment he lost his grip on his staff however, Valorin broke his concentration. Suddenly, quiet filled the field again, as everyone, even Emilian was struck speechless. Then the Seconds started laughing. 

“Does that mean we win, Keeper?” Valorin said, bounding up to the man who was still kneeling in the grass, completely still. Selen walked behind him, a swagger in her step and a smile playing at her lips. 

“I think it should!” She said, leaning over Valorin’s shoulder to offer Hawen a hand. 

For a moment, he just stared at the offered appendage, then he blinked repeatedly, “What in the Void was that?!” He snapped, anger and confusion coloring his tone.   
Valorin’s smile faltered for a heartbeat’s time, but then returned with a vengeance. “Oh garas, Keeper, don’t be a sore lose—”  
Whatever words of rebuttal that Hawen had in him were immediately cut off as another gust of wind flew down into the clearing, staggering them all. There was cracking groan, almost akin to rocks breaking apart as the glen was bathed in the same unearthly green light that had characterized the spell that Valorin had just cast.   
The magic in Hawen's veins all but erupted under his skin as he clamored to his feet and forced his gaze up. Before them all was a tear, at least three times as large as the one that Valorin had opened and shut. Hawen spared a glance back at the apprentice who was staring at the green rip with the same shock and fear that Hawen knew was evident upon his own features. That fear was quickly overtaken by terror when rays shot out from the main fissure, digging into the ground and oozing out black pus. The roar that reverberated from one of the now crystallizing mounds sent ice shooting up the back of Hawen's veins. 

A demon. What was a demon doing outside of the Fade? First undead, now demons. Hawen gripped at his staff in one hand, the other calling out to the earth, already feeling vines reach out to wrap themselves around his ankles. Then three or four more screeches and cries called out from the other fissures. Hawen had to close his eyes and forced his knees to keep from locking. The first of the creatures, rage demon that was easily the largest that Hawen had ever seen, erupted from the first mound. Hawen breathed, looking it in its beady black eyes as he called upon the cold and slammed his staff into the ground. 

The Rage demon hissed and sputtered as ice entrapped it. There was an almost feral cry as Emilian rushed forward, her blades unsheathed and glinting green before she leapt and buried them into the back of the creature's head. It leaked black smoke as she dropped down and darted off to relative safety. Ozone and static crackled around Hawen's ears as twin bits of lightening shot down and struck the demon. It shattered in a raid of ice and gore and Hawen felt a glorious sense of triumph as he whirled around, sending a vine straight through one of the wraith's heads. It too, disappeared in a haze of green, returning to the larger portal high above their heads.   
Soon, he found himself side-by-side with Selen, sending a barrage of ice bolts straight for another Rage Demon that Emilian was distracting. The creature roared in anger and Valorin threw up a barrier spell to protect her as the demon slashed at her chest. Valorin was more concentrated on keeping the spell going and didn't give any heed to the Terror that let out a screech and blinked at him with a hungry glint in its eyes. Hawen saw it transport, however. He watched it rip open a rift and duck away, out of sight.

" Fen'Harel ma halam!" Hawen snarled, calling upon the shadows to overtake him, and for the vines to take him to the younger man's side. And he arrived there not a moment too late. No sooner than he had kept from the shadows, there was a thrilling cry as the Terror leapt from its hiding place. The world swirled and exploded in a multi-colored flash as Hawen was thrown onto his back, slamming his head onto the ground with a snap of his neck. There was another screech as the Terror stabbed at its prone prey with serrated claws and Hawen forced himself to roll, blocking Valorin from the majority of the attack. He hissed as the creature's nails dug into his right shoulder and left side, the sharp pain jarring his senses and forcing the vines to grow thorns and attack the Terror with renewed vigor as their master crawled out of the way, grabbing Valorin's arm and hauling him away from the creature. Fire flew over their heads, filling the air with the stench of burning flesh and agonized howls. Hawen watched on, breathing heavily, as the final Terror dissipated back into the hole from whence it came. His grip on Valorin’s shoulder tightened as the rift winked in the sky, the spiraling crystals collapsing in upon one another. The green glow grew weaker, and if only for a moment, Hawen felt hope rise in his chest. His shoulder ached sharply and warm blood pooled down his arm, staining his tunic.  
Then the slash in the air let out another groan. With the grinding of stone, it jolted open, shooting down additional rays. Hawen rolled out of the way as a bolt dug into the ground not a foot away from his hand. An aching burn shot through the few fingers that were closest to the hole, causing Hawen to jerk away, pulling Valorin with him.   
Hawen’s eyes darted around the battlefield, taking in the six new fissures. His fingers tightened on his staff as another wave of fear crept over him. Stumbling to his feet, he doubled over. The cuts on his side burned. Reaching over to grip at his stinging chest, Hawen probed at the wound with hesitant fingers. The healing magic that he tried to summon sputtered pitifully as he reached for the dregs of his energy reserve. 

“Fenedhis,’ He spat, glancing over to Valorin, who looked just as exhausted. Selen and Emilian took faltering steps toward them. There was a cut on Emilian’s neck that was bleeding freely, and Selen was favoring her left side Valorin’s brown eyes stared back at him, young, panicked, and exhausted. Hawen didn’t know what the Second had summoned forth. And it was clear that Valorin didn’t either. Hawen forced himself to look away first, “Get back to camp!” He shouted, “We can’t fight this!” If it kept spewing out round after round of monsters, Hawen wasn’t even certain that the Hunters could do anything about it. There was a moment of conflict, a flicker of stubbornness that warred with Selen’s fright. But, within a heart-beat’s time, she took off, running past the boulders that marked the entrance to the training area. Emilian rushed after her. Valorin, however, stayed firmly behind, his gaze sharpening. 

“Keeper!” His words were harsh and his tone was desperate. 

“Go! Now!” Finally, Hawen pushed Valorin away, taking a deep breath. Trying to clear his mind, he called upon the ice again, directing it to form a barrier between them and the monsters that crept ever closer. The wall coalesced right as another Greater Terror charged them, raising a jagged claw. There was a flash of heat as an immolate spell flew by the right side of Hawen face, and he whirled around. Valorin’s spell found its mark with a hiss, and its owner stared at the demon as it writhed in pain. Then he charged up to Hawen, and Hawen only just managed to open his mouth to yell at the younger man for not following his instructions when Valorin grabbed him around the shoulder and used what seemed to be the very last of his energy to fade-step them to one of the exits. Then they took off running. 

===  
Somewhere deep within a hidden part of the Wilds, a sentinel slumbered. He could not dream, so he remembered. 

He remembered forgotten roads; he thought of about lost languages and crumbling empires. Of civil wars where the red blood of his people trickled down the cobblestone steps like rain water. His subconscious visualized his Lady, beautiful and blinding. He thought of her touch, cold and resigned as she traced the farthest and faintest mark of the vallaslin that lined his face and set him aside as ‘other’. As a warrior. A living weapon. 

Her eyes had been almost impartial, “Are you happy here?” She asked those words as if they were trivial. But there are something masked in her gaze that hinted to a hidden depth.

“I am honored to serve.” He had responded, straight backed and proud. Her gaze had dropped and her shoulders fell. She let him go. 

Without her touch he floated back into the awaiting abyss. Something was on the horizon. But it was not time for him to reawaken. Not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, someone on tumblr decided that the reason why there are so few elves at Hawen's camp is due to the fact that there are actually multiple camps, all of which are hidden or separate from the others. Here is the post. 
> 
> http://charamei.tumblr.com/post/109587365464/do-dalish-elves-live-in-aravels-or-do-they-live


End file.
